The Blackguard Chronicle
by Anastasia Adagio
Summary: Far be cast the Lethrblaka; through fire, blood, and water, may their name strike false.


Hello again! It's your favorite Ra'zac enthusiast, Ana, and another one of her esoteric stories! It suddenly became apparent to me some time ago that—for LCS's sake—I needed to construct the Lethrblakas' history as a race. Well, one sinus infection, three days home from school, and many cups of tea later, I present to you The Blackguard Chronicle! Right now, it's still highly subject to change, rather unstable, and—as I'm sure—yet unclear, contradictory, or awkward in some places. Still, I hope you'll find it pleasing to some degree, and shall help me to perfect it need be. As always, questions, comments, and criticisms are welcome!

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_The Lost Land is aptly named, for while lost to the Spine's Lethrblaka in presence, so too is it lost to them historically. _

_The first wave of their kind to descend upon Alagaesia did so in hunger and haste; they fell upon its sands with their minds and bodies ravaged by the long voyage oversea—needless to say, few survived. Indeed, it was their hatchlings that inherited this new continent, conforming to its bounty with an abandon unfettered by their parent's distant past. However, there were those who yet remained within their kin's shadow, and could imagine greatness beyond those empty waters. Below is a compilation of their collective memories—condensed and revised for comprehensive purposes._

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Upon the Lost Land, there was no such thing as a Lethrblaka; every member of their species was known as a Ra'zac, and yet, this was not a name they chose for themselves. The Humans of their shared homeland bestowed it upon them; in their tongue, it meant 'Poor.' This was not in reference to their civilization—which reveled in advancement at the time—but their composition. It was well known that the Ra'zac, for all their gifts, cunning, and ruthlessness, yet lacked something so fundamentally significant that they'd die without it. This little something was a protein—a very specific one that every Human is born with, and every Ra'zac is born without.

Of course, this was never intended by biological design.

Epochs ago, the Ra'zac maintained a single form throughout their lifespan; today, the many races call this creature a Lethrblaka. Despite being predominantly quadrupedal, the Ra'zac were dexterous in every way, shape, and form. They were thin but strong, four-legged but skillful with their hands, lidless of eye but expressive of feature. Their race was that of contrasts, and it was all of these distinctions that gave them their macabre charm.

So too were they the Lost Land's paragon race, with their vast civilization, rampant culture, and keen intelligence. Like the superiors they were, they paid Humanity no heed—their struggles were better left to the east where they dwelt in humble simplicity; indeed, Ra'zac society spun on an axis of isolationism, during which they paid attention to none but themselves. And though Humanity couldn't have known it, this ignorance was a most blessed gift. Even in their antiquity, the Ra'zac were a horrifically brutal race. Locked away within their City, they vetted this aggression out upon each other in increasingly intricate ways.

This unchecked bloodshed continued on for some time, until eventually, they honed their hostility into a single pair of words: First Blood.

First Blood was a title before all else, and to the Ra'zac, it meant power at its finest. A single brood lay claim to it at any given point in time, and they'd hold onto it until every last member of their family was murdered or put to death. Though First Blood was a frightful position, it allowed the reigning brood to effectively control the entire Ra'zac domain—certainly worth the effort and anxiety, as many would agree.

The struggle to preserve or break this chain of command was surely necessary, as it forced the Ra'zac to blunt the wantonness of their killings. So too did it give rise to a new facet of culture; broods soon fell into specific ruts of homicidal specialties. Assassins, berserkers, seducers, poisoners, blackmailers, backstabbers, and manipulators were just a few of the fields that developed in the wake of First Blood. It gave the vying families an outlet for their creativity, and families came to pride themselves on the effectiveness of their techniques. Indeed, games and tournaments were then routinely held, so as to protect the First Bloodline obscurely and offer the broods a chance to test themselves against each other.

It's fair to say that the Ra'zac were quite occupied for many centuries.

However, this was not to last. The start of a new, more painful beginning was heralded by the birth of a true Ra'zac—at least as far as Humanity's concerned. His name, like many others, has been lost to time, but his story has not. Born into a reigning First Bloodline, he was none the less exiled from their ranks due to his physical infirmness. This was considered an act of kindness on their behalf, for exile amounted to death without death, which he surely would have suffered in full had he remained in their court. None the less, the Pariah felt rage at his abandonment, and journeyed far from the Ra'zac territories in bitterness.

During his travels, he became weaker and weaker, until he collapsed outside of a Human camp in utter fragility. The camp's inhabitants looked upon him with hunger, for the Lost Land's winter was harsh, and they had little to eat. In desperation, they attacked him, after which he was roused into bloodlust—for while he was feeble, he was yet a Ra'zac, and much stronger than they. Upon their slaughter, the Pariah felt a powerful attraction to their meat in the snow, and soon consumed the dead as they'd intended to consume him. The meal brought vigor to his delicate body, and his wings—crumpled since birth—began to slake off their numbness. At last, the Pariah had found a cure for his ailment!

Elated, he returned to the Ra'zac territories, begging for an audience with his kin. However, since his departure, his bloodline had been pared down to just a few individuals; their annihilation was at hand. This worked in his favor to some degree, for his cousin—enamored with status and fearful of death—drew him back into their society with the promise that he'd help her revive their brood. The Pariah agreed, and for some time, he was happy with his mate and the hatchlings they had together. She was fierce and unforgiving; no murderer could fell her family, and it looked as if they'd remain First Bloods for many years to come.

That's when their progenies began to display some worrying symptoms. Examination revealed that all twelve shared their father's disease, and would soon die without Human flesh to keep them strong. Where the Pariah was hopeful, his cousin was only devastated and enraged; she lashed out at her husband, furious with him for condemning their rule to weakness. The Pariah, hurt and vengeful, fled from the empire once more—this time, with his hatchlings as well. He feared that their mother would kill them out of spite; moreover, the isolated Ra'zac territories could not provide the meat they required to live.

Fate surely favored the Double Pariah, for it showed him mercy when brutality was nigh. At the time of his abdication from the Infernal City, the Lost Land's Humans were growing fearful; they'd long dreaded the Ra'zacs' power, and news of the Pariah's condition had spread far. Humanity mistakenly believed that all Ra'zac were afflicted with his illness, and so spent their nights in concern over the fortune of others. How horrible if, as they farmed and hunted, scores of their sisters and brothers toiled away within the volcanic lands to the west! What if the Ra'zac kept them as slaves to be eaten whenever they so desired? The thought was horrendous, and it stoked within them the embers of rage.

It was the Ra'zacs' negligence that was their downfall, for while they had ignored the Humans, they'd advanced in more ways than one. Smiths began to rise amongst them, and in their massive forges, they crafted weapons with which to conquer the other race. Bows and arrows that required eight persons to wield, flash powder bombs to blind sensitive eyes, mighty swords that could cleave a horse's head from its shoulders with one fell swing; all these were fashioned swiftly and with malice.

Delirium is the mark of a Human just as suspicion is the mark of a Ra'zac; both are disastrous when spurred into action. Humanity desired war, and it was war they'd have.

It was well known to all that the Ra'zac plied their sovereignty from the far west. There, titanic volcanos thrust from the ground, their ebony sides aglitter with gold. Even so, it wasn't the metal of man that infested these infernal mountains—it was sulfur. Sulfur that ran like veins of lightning down their sides, sulfur that sparkled like freshly fallen snow at the slightest light, sulfur that boiled and frothed within their cavernous bellies. It turned to lava deep down inside them, burning with pink and cobalt flames.

The Ra'zac had lived there for so long that their blood ran with the same blue as the volcanos' magma, their chests were large and muscular with filters, their wings were thin so as to cut through airless currents, and their eyes were keen enough to see through the smoke that never left the sky. Like insects they built their roosts into the volcanos' very sides—vast catacombs that delved down into their pits and latticed the crags beyond. They ate and chattered alongside twisted pillars of frozen sulfur, waterfalls of the molten mineral cascading down ledges of their own design. The vast courts within the volcanos themselves constantly rumbled with the rivers of fire above, and their hatchlings played within endless forests of crystals that grew from the very walls.

It was a catastrophically beautiful empire—one that would be soon aid in their demise.

Though Humanity had no written language of its own, they could yet speak to each other, and understand the mechanics of others. It was in this way that they kept watch over the Infernal City, and came to memorize its patterns. However, what the Humans perceived as distraction, the Ra'zac knew to be excitement.

The Double Pariah's cousin and her infant niece had just recently been killed, but not by any of their fellows. The last First Blood had gone mad since her husband and children's escape, and so poisoned herself and the youngling before a year had passed. Now, the title was vacant again, but no brood had claim to it. Day after day, the Ra'zac retreated into the heart of their domain, waging bloody debates over their right to the title.

Humanity observed this, and though they didn't understand its context, they knew that no better chance would arise for a first strike.

Before an assault was made, Human spies crept into the City to search for trapped kinsmen. When none were found, they returned to their posts in puzzlement, but plans for the attack yet continued. The Ra'zac still presented a threat, and the war-like smiths would not allow their work to go to waste. Three hundred and ninety two days after the Double Pariah fled, Humanity moved en force upon the west.

The destruction of the Ra'zac was quiet and terrible. Every ornate entrance into the Infernal City was sealed with clay, and then pre-planted flash-bombs detonated within. Before any of the denizens knew what was happening, their hallways, antechambers, and archives were filling with molten sulfuric acid. Thousands burned in minutes, hundreds of others choking to death on the smoke and ashes of their combusted fellows; those few that clawed past the stoppered entryways were set upon by hordes of waiting Humans.

Only twenty or so of the strongest flew beyond the arrows and fire, only to collapse on far off hills in grief and ruin. It was these unfortunates that the Double Pariah found, and in this way, he learned of his civilization's destruction. Those that didn't perish of their wounds and depression melded in with his brood and made it ever larger. This turn of events was rather ironic, for while Humanity had destroyed the Ra'zac, they yet allowed the root of their concerns to flourish within the countryside.

Thus went the first Ra'zac war, yet unknown by those today in Alagaesia.

The Double Pariah returned to his home many years later, pleased to find that it was indeed a tomb. The previous City held no fond memories for him, and the smoldering wreck of its remains seemed more of an opportunity than an ill omen.

His brood, having swelled to over hundred individuals, took to the volcanic shambles in curiosity; they'd grown young and strong in the wild, and this carcass of a civilization was new to them. Their patriarch played upon this, and bid that they settle there once more. Over time, they restored the City to its previous splendor, but no measure of will could bring back its burnt books, faded architecture, and lively culture.

However, while his brood dully ached for their forgotten past, the Double Pariah reveled amidst the devastation. He urged his kin to take up the arts and create new masterpieces. And indeed, that which they created was rich and rife with darkness—much like the work before them—but so too was it built upon the blood of Humans. The weaker race knew the terrible sting of failure when their worst fears came to pass. Like a weed, the Ra'zac had grown once more through hellfire and malice, only to haunt them with the need to feed. The holocaust had left them bitter and hungry; they'd come to indulge both sides of their vengeance for many ages thereafter.

Meanwhile, the Double Pariah grew older and older. He saw his grandchildren and their grandchildren slowly adopt carapaces to mimic the Humans they hunted, he saw a golden age of cultural growth as his people focused their aggressions upon others rather than themselves, and he saw Humanity dwindle down to dregs as they ate them up into nothingness.

This was his birthright, and it would soon be his legacy, for the Migration was then upon them all. His vast brood, five hundred years strong, had devoured and devoured until their ancient enemies were aught but frightened shadows. They understood this, and they mourned, for they knew that Humanity would soon leave them. Their smiths had turned to sailors, and for many decades they'd already inhabited the coast where the Ra'zac feared to tread. Humanity turned upon this defense for salvation, and built mighty ships with which to travel far away from the Lost Land.

The Double Pariah, so very ancient, couldn't bring himself to leave New Inferno as his grandchildren—many greats removed—chose to follow their fleeing prey. His most loyal kin stayed at his side, just as those few Humans loyal to their lands remained behind. They kept each other dreadful company as a single galleon and many jagged shadows departed for the lands beyond the sea.


End file.
